From kitchen window broom stands against garage door, askew.
What lies beyond the door of this day—off center, all lopsided and cockeyed?
I rinse my cup and listen to water rushing from the faucet through my fingers.
Cup shines. What can bear a stain?
Day unfolds in threes—a testing from Sunday’s sermon. “That’s too much to expect,” husband had said in car on ride home, “the unspeakable joy, spoken of…”
“No, it’s the point,” I said “we rise above situations with faith.”
He shook his head. I shook mine.
Monday morning; my chest burned with frustration by 9:00 am.
My cheeks; grew hot with humiliation by the 11:00 o’clock hour.
Crushing sadness struck at 4:00.
What of this joy?
While it stood askew that day, the door of Grace opened.
Feature photo: Photo by Christian Fregnan